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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24747112">if you're gonna hit me, hit me harder</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamquams/pseuds/tamquams'>tamquams</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>this room feels electric, caught here in your sights [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Drinking, First Kiss, Gym AU, M/M, Ronan Compliant Language, gratuitous latin speaking, ronan and noah friendship :), ronan lynch is gay for his sparring partner. that's it that's the whole plot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:48:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,026</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24747112</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamquams/pseuds/tamquams</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronan wasn’t far behind, jamming his hands into his gloves ferociously and swinging himself over the ropes. “How was your week, Parrish?” he asked, raising his hands to guard his face. It was the same question he asked at the beginning of each sparring session, to gauge how aggressive Parrish was going to be and how aggressive he should be in turn.</p><p>By way of reply, Parrish lashed out and struck Ronan with a vicious blow to the ribs.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>this room feels electric, caught here in your sights [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1814953</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>228</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>if you're gonna hit me, hit me harder</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>howdy! i originally planned on this entire fic to take place in a gym, but alas, the story moved past there. really, i don't know what i intended this to be, but it's definitely... not that. but anyway! i hope you like it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh, dude,” said Noah fondly. “You are so screwed.”</p><p>Ronan bared his teeth, but he didn’t have a worthy retort. Noah wasn’t exactly <em>wrong</em>, per se. Ronan was, all things considered, pretty damn screwed. But still, he didn’t have to <em>say</em> it.</p><p>“Fuck you,” was all he had to say in reply.</p><p>“You <em>could</em> talk to him, you know,” Noah continued, ever so helpful. “Like, I know you don’t really understand the concept of human connection, but it <em>is</em> possible to have relationships that don’t revolve around physical violence.”</p><p>Ronan narrowed his eyes. “Fuck you,” he repeated.</p><p>“Okay, fine, we can start smaller. It’s possible to have conversations that don’t revolve around the word ‘fuck.’ Do you think you’re capable of that?”</p><p>Rolling his eyes, Ronan stood and headed for the trash can. “Fuck you,” he said a third time, smacking Noah lightly in the back of the head as he passed.</p><p>Unfazed, Noah pushed up off the bench and followed after Ronan. “I mean, I’m just saying, what’s the harm in talking to him?”</p><p>“We talk.” Ronan tossed his coffee cup in the trash and then kept going down the sidewalk, headed for the gym.</p><p>Behind him, Noah snorted. “Okay, let me rephrase: what’s the harm in talking to him when you’re not actively trying to kill him?”</p><p>Ronan shoved his hands into his pockets and kicked angrily at a pebble on the sidewalk. “I’m not trying to kill him,” he said defensively, his lips pulling back into a scowl. “If I wanted to kill him, he’d be dead.”</p><p>“Ah,” Noah sighed. “Modern romance.” He took a couple of quick steps till he was even with Ronan, then tried again. “I’m serious, though, Ronan. If you like him, why not just talk to him? Like, a normal conversation. Or at least as normal a conversation as you’re capable of having. What’s the worst that could happen?”</p><p>An indignant noise escaped the back of Ronan’s throat. “What’s the worst that could happen?” he repeated mockingly, coming to a stop at an intersection. He slammed his palm against the walk button with more force than was strictly necessary. “He could reject me. He could ask me out on a date and then take me home and kill me. He could be a homophobic piece of shit and I’d lose my favorite sparring partner. The list goes on, Czerny.”</p><p>Noah tilted his head up to level Ronan with an unimpressed look. “Get real, Ronan. You could totally take him in a fight.”</p><p>“I don’t know. He’s quick. He gets me sometimes.”</p><p>The walk light turned on, and they strolled out onto the crosswalk. “Yeah, but that’s sparring in a gym. There are rules.” Noah was gesticulating wildly with his hands, narrowly avoiding hitting Ronan in the throat. “In a street fight, it’s no contest. You could just smash his face into the wall, bam, done.”</p><p>That wasn’t exactly how fights worked, but Ronan didn’t have time to tell Noah that; they had just arrived at the front door of Ronan’s gym. “Well, I’ll keep that in mind,” he said drily as he reached out to ruffle Noah’s hair. Noah stood there and took it, even smiled, because he was a weirdo like that.</p><p>“If you say one sentence to him outside of the ring today,” Noah called as Ronan slid his gym membership card against the scanner and opened the lobby door, “I’ll pay your tab at the bar tonight! Just talk to him!”</p><p>Ronan thought the door had shut behind him, but he must have been wrong; he was only halfway across the lobby when a voice said from not very far behind him, “Talk to who?”</p><p>Jesus fuck.</p><p>Clenching his jaw to brace himself, Ronan glanced over his shoulder, and, yup — who had walked in behind him other than Adam fucking Parrish himself?</p><p>Parrish was smiling, because of course he was. To most people, it might seem like a friendly expression, but Ronan had spent enough time with Parrish to notice the edge that said the smile was at someone else’s expense (right now, most likely Ronan’s). He was dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, a duffel bag hanging from his shoulder, and his hair was slightly mussed as if from sleep. Ronan’s mouth went dry at the sight of him.</p><p>For the past few months, Parrish had been Ronan’s regular sparring partner at the gym. He wasn’t particularly big, but he was wiry and quick, and stronger than he looked. There were probably members at the gym who could provide Ronan with more of a challenge, but Adam had something that the rest of them didn’t: Ronan’s heart.</p><p>Ronan sputtered at the thought. God, how fucking sappy could he <em>get</em>?</p><p>“Mind your business, Parrish,” he coughed before Parrish could say anything. Parrish just grinned back wickedly, slapping one hand against Ronan’s back. Ronan coughed again.</p><p>“You good?” asked Parrish cheerfully as he stepped past Ronan to press the call button for the elevator. “Wouldn’t want you out of commission before I even got the chance to knock you on your ass.”</p><p>At that, Ronan’s cough turned into a laugh. “Remind me again just how many times you’ve ‘knocked me on my ass?’”</p><p>The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. As they stepped inside, Adam hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I mean, there was last month—”</p><p>“Last month doesn’t count, I had a really bad cold—”</p><p>“Oh, bullshit, what about two weeks before that, when I—”</p><p>“I was <em>distracted</em>—”</p><p>“Has it ever occurred to you, Lynch, that maybe you just suck—”</p><p>“Fuck off—”</p><p>The elevator dinged again and the doors slid open, and both men immediately fell silent as they stepped onto the main floor.</p><p>This early in the afternoon on a weekday, the floor was pretty empty. It was always empty when they met up; their standing appointment was at 1PM every Tuesday, because it was literally the only time during the week when Parrish did not have to be at work or school and the gym was actually open.</p><p>They made their way into the locker room in silence, Parrish pausing to hold the door open for Ronan and Ronan brushing his shoulder against Parrish’s lightly as he passed. If it bothered Parrish, he didn’t say anything; he chose the locker directly beside the one Ronan had chosen and slid his duffel bag inside easily before slamming the metal door and securing it with a lock that he had brought with him. He leaned one shoulder against the lockers as Ronan yanked his shirt over the top of his head.</p><p>“Got something’ on your mind, Parrish?” Ronan grunted as he reached into his bag and pulled out a tank top. As he pulled it on, he could feel Parrish’s eyes on him — or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Some days, Ronan could swear that Parrish felt the same way that he did, but he could never quite convince himself that it was possible. This was Adam Parrish he was talking about; a man so beautiful, so smart, so funny that he could have anyone he wanted.</p><p>So why would he want Ronan?</p><p>Still, the way his eyes traced the lines and planes of Ronan’s body was unmistakable. He slid his gaze back up to meet Ronan’s and said, voice a little rougher than it had been, “Hurry up, Lynch, daylight’s wasting.”</p><p>Ronan just grunted in reply and unbuckled his belt, moving to unzip his jeans. Normally, he was not a self-conscious man (at least, when it came to his physicality), but he had never taken off his pants in Parrish’s presence, and he could feel his face beginning to warm. Still, he wouldn’t let something as trivial as <em>insecurity</em> ruin his routine. He kicked off his boots and began to shimmy out of the skinny jeans.</p><p>As soon as the denim was low enough to expose Ronan’s boxers, Parrish turned away and headed for the door. “I’ll be at the ring,” he said without looking over his shoulder, and then he was gone.</p><p>Stepping into his sweatpants, Ronan cursed at himself under his breath. What the fuck had he been thinking? He shoved his jeans and boots into his locker and grabbed his sneakers, hating himself with every cell in his body. God, now he had done it.</p><p>Well, on the bright side, now Noah owed him a night out.</p><p>Once his shoelaces were secured, Ronan slammed the metal door shut and shoved out of the locker room and onto the main floor of the gym, not bothering to lock his locker behind him (if anyone stole his shit, he would just buy new shit).</p><p>Just as Parrish had promised, he was standing beside the empty boxing ring, leaning backwards against the ropes. He looked at Ronan and raised one eyebrow, perhaps in a challenge, perhaps in flirtation, and Ronan just rolled his eyes in response. He watched as Parrish put his gloves on and slung his body between the ropes, coming to stand at full height in the middle of the ring.</p><p>Ronan wasn’t far behind, jamming his hands into his gloves ferociously and swinging himself over the ropes. “How was your week, Parrish?” he asked, raising his hands to guard his face. It was the same question he asked at the beginning of each sparring session, to gauge how aggressive Parrish was going to be and how aggressive he should be in turn.</p><p>By way of reply, Parrish lashed out and struck Ronan with a vicious blow to the ribs. Sometimes, it was like this; Parrish was fine, cheery and friendly as always, and then as soon as he stepped into the ring, a switch flipped and his anger took over. He moved back just as quickly as he had lunged forward, and Ronan hadn’t even lowered his gloves before Parrish was out of reach again. “It could have been better,” Parrish growled, and Ronan couldn’t help but smirk.</p><p>“You don’t say?” he mused, glaring at Parrish heatlessly over the tops of his gloves. “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s about to get worse.” He aimed a fist for the side of Parrish’s face, but Parrish had taken his warning to heart; he jumped back and out of the way, and then caught Ronan’s rib cage once again while Ronan was still off-balance from his missed hit.</p><p>Ronan hissed, more out of surprise than pain, and took a half-step back. Advancing on him, Parrish clicked his tongue condescendingly. “You were saying?” His voice was innocent, but there was a look in his eyes so predatory that Ronan had to suppress a shudder.</p><p>He should <em>not</em> have been so attracted to ruthlessness.</p><p>He was anyway.</p><p>“You should look into anger management, Parrish,” said Ronan, blocking a jab aimed at his jaw. He forced Parrish back a step. “I mean, rage is hot, but one of these days you’re gonna break my nose, and it’s kinda my defining feature.”</p><p>Parrish feinted right and then swung left, knocking his glove against the side of Ronan’s face. “Rage is hot?” he repeated, and Ronan felt his entire body flush as he realized what he said.</p><p>Rather than reply (because honestly, how <em>could</em> he reply? He couldn’t exactly refute that he had said it, and anyway, he wasn’t a liar), Ronan forced Parrish back another step and aimed for his side; this time, the blow landed, and Parrish let out a small noise of pain.</p><p>“Seriously, Parrish,” panted Ronan, taking a huge step back when Parrish aimed a right hook at him, “Are you okay?”</p><p>Parrish ground his teeth and brought his gloves up to guard his face, even though Ronan wasn’t swinging at him. “I’m fine,” he spat, and it sounded more like a lie than anything Ronan had heard in his entire life (and his brother was Declan Lynch — but that was a different story).</p><p>“Dude,” Ronan huffed, lowering his gloves. “I’m not gonna fight you like this.”</p><p>Parrish scowled. “Why’s that?”</p><p>Looking down at his hands, Ronan began to remove his gloves. “I don’t have a problem with you using boxing as an outlet for your pent-up anger. Hell, I do it too. But one of these days, you’re gonna hurt yourself, and I don’t wanna be there when that happens.”</p><p>Parrish looked like he wanted to argue, but he was quiet as he lowered his hands as well. He eyed Ronan warily, as if this were a trick, like Ronan was waiting till his guard was down to strike, but when Ronan finished tugging off his gloves, Parrish finally deflated slightly. “Well, what do you suggest I do?”</p><p>Ronan sighed. He actually <em>did</em> have an idea, albeit a slightly selfish one — not that he was suggesting it for his own good, he just happened to benefit from it — and if it was a long shot, well, who the fuck cared? “A friend and I are going out for drinks tonight,” Ronan said. “Why don’t you come with us?”</p><p>A look crossed Parrish’s face like he could think of a thousand reasons why he shouldn’t go with them, but then something like resignation settled in his eyes. “Sure,” he said, voice neutral. He exhaled through his nose. “I’ve gotta shower and get to work, but text me the details.” He climbed between the ropes and left the ring.</p><p>“I don’t have your number,” Ronan said, turning to watch him walk away.</p><p>Parrish smiled at him over his shoulder. “I’ll put it in your phone while I’m in the locker room.” He shouldered the locker room door open and disappeared through it.</p><p>Still standing in the middle of the ring, Ronan blinked a few times in surprise. What was he getting himself into?</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>When Ronan finally made his way into the locker room to grab his stuff (he had spent thirty minutes on a treadmill after Parrish took off), it was blissfully empty. He slipped off his sneakers and opened his locker, determinedly ignoring the way his heart raced as he unzipped his duffel bag and picked up his phone.</p><p>He had exactly two notifications: a text from Noah, and a text from Adam Parrish. Ronan slid his finger across the screen to unlock his phone (he didn’t have a passcode, because he didn’t have anything to hide on his phone, because he refused to use it unless absolutely necessary) and opened the text from Noah.</p><p><em>so?????????????????????????????</em> it read.</p><p>Ronan rolled his eyes and opened the text from Parrish.</p><p>
  <em>You should invest in a lock.</em>
</p><p>With a snort, Ronan typed out a quick reply. <em>idk im happy with how things turned out.</em> He smiled to himself, shook his head, and then stuffed his phone back into the bag so he could get changed.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“You <em>what</em>?”</p><p>Ronan rolled his eyes and smoothed his plain black t-shirt across his chest. Ridiculously, it was the third shirt he had tried on while getting dressed to go to the bar — even more ridiculously, it was identical to the first two. He glared at his own reflection and addressed Noah’s question. “Don’t make me repeat myself, Czerny.”</p><p>He felt Noah come up behind him and put his small, cold hands on Ronan’s shoulder. A second later he appeared in the mirror as he used this leverage to push himself onto his tip-toes, boosting his height just enough so that Ronan could see his eyes and eyebrows in the reflection. “Tell me everything! How did you do it? What did he say? Did he —?”</p><p>With an elbow to the ribs, Ronan interrupted his friend. “It’s not like a <em>date</em> or anything, so chill out. He just seemed like he was in a really bad mood, and he hit me really hard, and I figured he could use a night out. It’s just a friend thing. As illustrated by your presence.”</p><p>Judging by the crease between his brows, Noah was frowning. “Well. Still. This is our opportunity to impress him! We gotta go big! I’m thinking glitter, eyeshadow, and—”</p><p>Ronan elbowed him again. “No. God, no. We’re taking him to our regular bar and we’re going to have a regular night.” He turned around to face Noah, giving his friend his most serious face. “Do <em>not</em> get any ideas.”</p><p>“Ideas?” Noah echoed, feigning innocence. “Me? I don’t know what you mean.”</p><p>Ronan grabbed Noah by the shoulders, gently but firmly. “I’m not kidding, Czerny. Don’t fuck this up for me.”</p><p>At that, the mischief disappeared from Noah’s face, and he softened slightly. “Okay,” he conceded with a sigh. “I’ll be on my best behavior. Promise.”</p><p>Ronan wasn’t really sure that he believed him, but it wasn’t like he had a choice. He released Noah’s narrow shoulders. “Does this shirt look okay?” he asked quietly, pulling at the hem with restless fingers.</p><p>Noah’s smile was sincere. “It looks great.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The plan was to meet at Ronan’s favorite dive bar, Cabeswater (whatever the fuck that meant), at eight that evening. Naturally, Ronan and Noah showed up at 7:30, because Noah wanted to make sure that they were there when Parrish arrived and Ronan wanted to make sure that he was buzzed when Parrish arrived.</p><p>Both of their wishes came true.</p><p>Parrish strode into the bar at eight on the dot, ever so punctual. The door was directly within Ronan’s line of sight, so he saw the moment that Parrish entered the establishment, glancing around furtively. His shoulders were tense and his mouth was drawn into a thin line, but when his eyes finally locked with Ronan’s, he relaxed a bit and smiled. Ronan raised one hand in a nonchalant wave.</p><p>“Hey, Parrish,” said Ronan once Parrish was approaching him. Noah had disappeared — either to the bathroom or a pool table, it wasn’t really Ronan’s business — and so Parrish slid onto the empty bar stool to Ronan’s left.</p><p>“Hey,” Parrish said. He tapped his fingers idly against the surface of the bar. “How’s it going?”</p><p>Ronan shrugged one shoulder. “Alright,” he said, brushing one finger across the rim of his half-empty glass. “What do you want to drink?”</p><p>“Oh,” said Parrish, “that’s alright, I’ll—”</p><p>Ronan interrupted him. “It’s all going on Noah’s tab tonight. He owes me. So pick your poison.”</p><p>Parrish cleared his throat, considering. “Uh, whisky’s fine, I guess,” he said after a moment, more to the bartender than to Ronan. “Neat, please.” The bartender nodded and turned to grab something, then placed a glass in front of Parrish and poured a steady stream of amber liquid into it.</p><p>After the bartender had finished and stepped away, Parrish held up his glass in Ronan’s general direction and sighed. “Cheers,” he said, and before Ronan could respond, he downed the contents of his glass.</p><p>“Woah, there, Parrish,” said Ronan, even though he was already half a drink ahead. “Where’s the fire?”</p><p>Parrish hummed. “Where’s your friend?” he asked, neatly avoiding the question. “Noah?”</p><p>As if he had been waiting for a cue — and knowing Noah, he very well may have been — Noah appeared beside Ronan, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Hi,” he said with a grin, thrusting a hand in Parrish’s direction. “I’m Noah. I’m Ronan’s friend.”</p><p>“Oh,” Parrish said, as if in surprise, and he reached out and shook Noah’s hand politely. “I’m Adam. It’s nice to meet you.”</p><p>Noah’s grin grew wider. “The pleasure’s all mine,” he said, and then he stepped sideways out of Ronan’s space. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I just met the most interesting man over by the pool table, and I just wanted to stop by to say hello and don’t wait up.” He winked at them both, then spread his arms. “Please enjoy my hospitality and have a wonderful evening. Ronan, I’ll see you… tomorrow morning?” Without waiting for a response, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.</p><p>Ronan knocked back the rest of his drink and inclined his head in Parrish’s direction. “Wanna get out of here?”</p><p>Parrish sighed, long and deep. “God, yeah.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They did not <em>get out of there</em> to go back to Ronan’s and hook up (as much as Ronan would have enjoyed that). Instead, he led them out into the night and down the street, no clear destination in mind. Parrish walked just closely enough for their wrists and shoulders and elbows to brush, and they talked, softly and unrushed, for once unbound by the walls of the gymnasium. They had been ambling aimlessly around the city long enough for both their buzzes to have faded when Ronan finally asked a question he had been meaning to get around to.</p><p>“What’s your major?” Ronan asked, for the first time in his life curious about someone’s academic life.</p><p>Parrish exhaled through his nose, like this question bored him intensely and he wanted to return to their debate on the best ways to survive a zombie apocalypse. “History,” he said, and Ronan did his best not to roll his eyes. “Pre-law. With a minor in Latin.”</p><p>That piqued Ronan’s interested. “Latin?” he repeated, sending Parrish a sidelong glance.</p><p>“I know it’s nerdy,” said Parrish in a rush, determined to defend himself before Ronan could laugh at him. “I can’t really explain it—”</p><p>“Relax,” interrupted Ronan, bumping his shoulder against Parrish’s. “I wasn’t about to make fun of you. I was interested. I, uh, I like Latin, too.”</p><p>Judging by the shape that Adam’s mouth took (comically round, like the letter ‘o’), this surprised him; he cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah?” he asked, almost nervously, like he wasn’t completely sure that this wasn’t the set-up to a joke.</p><p>Ronan <em>tsk</em>ed. “What, do I not strike you as a guy who knows Latin, Parrish?”</p><p>“You don’t strike me as anything,” Parrish said offhandedly, and just as Ronan felt himself begin to feel offended, he continued, “I just mean — I mean — every time I think I know something about you, it turns out I’m wrong. Nothing about you is expected. I mean that in the best way possible, believe me.”</p><p>For some reason — maybe it was the hour, or the darkness, or the warmth of Parrish’s skin where his wrist brushed against Ronan’s with every couple of steps — Ronan <em>did</em> believe him. And not only did he believe him, but he <em>trusted</em> him. Trusted him in a way that he very rarely allowed himself to trust another person.</p><p>Out loud, he said hoarsely, “Crea qia absurdum est.”</p><p>Parrish barked out a laugh at that, loud and free and joyous. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shook his head, smiling all the while. “Acta non verba,” he said, very nearly mocking, and then Ronan pressed his hands to his face and kissed him.</p><p>For a fraction of a second, Parrish froze, but before Ronan could pull away, he was kissing back, removing his hands from his pockets to cup the back of Ronan’s neck with his right and to steady himself on Ronan’s ribcage with his left. He parted his lips and Ronan melted into him, sliding one hand back to run through Parrish’s hair, and the shorter man made a startled but pleased noise at the contact.</p><p>When they broke away, seconds or hours or years later, Parrish was panting like had just run a marathon. Ronan was sure that his own breathing wasn’t much better, but he bit out a “Estne volumen in toga, an solum tibi libet me videre?” just to see Parrish’s reaction.</p><p>Parrish didn’t disappoint; his cheeks turned pink and he shoved at Ronan’s shoulder, trying and failing to scowl at him. “Asshole,” he said, but there was no bite to it, not with the way he was smiling. He stepped away from Ronan and continued down the sidewalk, humming innocuously. “Are you coming?” he called over his shoulder after a moment.</p><p>Ronan grit his teeth to hold back a slew of dirty comments. He took a few quick steps forward, and when he finally caught up with Parrish, he said, “Manus in mano,” and took Parrish’s hand in his.</p><p>“Manus in mano,” Parrish repeated, swinging their joined hands happily.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i hope you enjoyed!!! </p><p>crea qia absurdum est = i believe because it is absurd<br/>acta non verba = deeds, not words<br/>estne volumen in toga, an solum tibi libet me videre? = is that a scroll in your toga, or are you happy to see me?<br/>manus in mano = hand in hand</p><p>i headcanon adam is a history major with a pre-law focus, so there's that (he's gonna be a human rights lawyer and then a college professor when he's older, thank you very much) and it's never mentioned here but ronan is a painter and yes, he can take things out of his dreams in this universe. oh, and the guy that noah went home with at the bar was henry. but ANYWAY.</p><p>fic title comes from glory by bastille (stream bastille for taste)!</p><p>i hope you're all doing well and staying safe! as always, you're welcome to come interact with me on tumblr, i'm temporarily @sleepsongs and i make gifs and talk about adam parrish and say nice things :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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